


From Chapped Lips To Sun-Kissed

by mrs_d



Series: SamSteve Bingo [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Steve was going to learn what a vacation was, even if it killed him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: SamSteve Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571554
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	From Chapped Lips To Sun-Kissed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Warmth" square on my SamSteve Bingo card.

Sam liked New York in the winter; he always had. Something about the way that snowfall could make even the noisiest city seem quiet was magical to him. He loved the way that New Yorkers still went about their routines, only with their heads bent against the wind and heavy coats wrapped around them. He liked looking for the one guy who always wore shorts, regardless of the freezing temperatures, and the kids who toddled along behind their parents, fascinated by every puffed-up pigeon. 

Sam used to be one of those kids, hanging out in his father’s church yard after school, building forts and snowmen, feeding the oversized birds scraps from his lunch box. After his father’s death, he still went there almost every afternoon, until his mother had to come and drag him home, explaining in a choked-up voice that he couldn’t just go places without telling her, that it wasn't safe, that she couldn’t lose him too. And when he got home from the Middle East, a shell of the person he’d been, the snow and the pigeons were the only things about the city — about the world — that felt unchanged.

So, New York in the winter was one of Sam's favorite places. New York in general was great — it was home. And after living through years of DC’s relatively mild winters, he was looking forward to real snow again. 

Steve, however...

Steve did not like the cold. Sam couldn’t blame him, given the time he’d spent under the ice, but it went deeper than that. A lifetime before the war of never having enough — enough money for heat and proper outerwear, enough body fat to cushion him against the elements, enough health to feel like one cold day wouldn’t be his last — had left just as much of an impression as Sam’s father’s church yard and its pigeons. Add to that the trauma of the plane crash into frigid water, and the fact that extreme cold had kept him alive but took away his world and everyone in it, and, yeah, Sam understood where Steve was coming from. 

Not that Steve complained, of course. Oh, no, the Irish Catholic in him would never allow that. After all, he wasn’t in danger of succumbing to the cold anymore: he was healthy now, with plenty of money. He didn’t even feel the cold the same way he used to— or so he claimed every time the temperature dipped below freezing. Sam wasn’t convinced. Steve repeated it like a spell to ward off retribution, like he feared a higher power might be listening, ready to punish him if he seemed even the tiniest bit ungrateful. 

So Sam knew he had to tread carefully. Steve couldn’t think that this was an act of pity or charity, and he couldn’t feel like he was taking something away from someone else who deserved it more. (No one deserved it more.) Sam also knew that Steve wasn’t a fan of crowds or what he called manufactured fun — Sam learned that lesson when he took him to Disneyworld for his birthday. Plus, the whole celebrity thing was stressful for both of them. Therefore, as much fun as an all-inclusive resort or a Caribbean cruise sounded, neither was a very good option. 

Luckily, Sam had a plan, and Tony Stark owed him a favor. The rest of the details were easy enough to arrange — an afternoon of shopping with Natasha, a quick visit from Thor to get liquor for Steve’s pina colada, a solemn promise to Rhodey that he’d bring the QuinJet back in one piece — and soon enough, they were ready. 

Not that Steve knew where they were going, of course. Sam fed him a line about a HYDRA lead down South, and he jumped in the plane like a giant, serious golden retriever. Anything to get out of the cold, Sam thought, but he didn’t say it. As co-pilot, Sam entered the coordinates for Tony Stark’s private getaway, and sat back while Steve got the plane in the air. 

They were on their way, and Steve was going to learn what a vacation was, even if it killed him.

* * *

“Uh,” said Steve, when he opened the ramp, shield in hand, Sam right behind him.

The sun was blinding after hours spent in the dim interior of the QuinJet, and a sea-scented breeze drifted over Sam’s face. There was no one to meet them on the tiny runway — there was no one anywhere.

“I thought we were meeting your contact,” Steve said. 

“We are,” Sam replied casually, offering him one of the three bags he was carrying — his own, Steve’s, and the one that Sam had packed for Steve when he wasn’t looking. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve repeated, skeptical. 

Sam nodded innocently.

Frowning, Steve took two of the bags, and Sam followed him out of the plane and into what could only be described as paradise. Pale sand had swept over the tarmac, filling its cracks and crunching under Sam’s shoes. Just past the airport’s fence, he could see teal water that deepened into a hazy navy horizon. 

Steve didn’t seem interested in the scenery, however. He turned and remotely closed the QuinJet’s ramp before engaging the retro-reflective panels. Within seconds, the plane was completely transparent, and Sam got another glimpse of that blue, blue water. 

“Ready?” he asked.

Steve nodded. They headed for the small building at the edge of the pavement, which was as deserted as the runway. 

“Greetings, Captain Rogers, Sergeant Wilson,” said a familiar voice from overhead when they entered. 

“How you doing, Jarvis?” Sam called.

“I am the same as ever,” Jarvis replied placidly. “I have informed Mr. Stark of your safe arrival. He sends his welcome.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Steve, with a curious look that Sam ignored. 

“Shall I arrange for transportation?” Jarvis asked. 

“No, thanks, man, we’ll walk,” Sam answered for them. “It’s only a few minutes,” he explained in Steve’s general direction as they headed through to the front door, which opened onto a one-lane road. Like the tarmac and the airport, it was deserted. 

“Where are we?” Steve finally asked after they’d been walking for five minutes. 

“Depends on who you ask,” Sam answered. “I’m sure the local people have a different name for it, but since the pirates started coming here in the 17th century, it’s been known as Smuggler’s Cove.”

Steve snorted, and Sam grinned. It  _ was _ a little ostentatious.

“It’s a peninsula,” he went on. “An hour’s drive, and we’ll be on the mainland.”

“That’s where your contact will be?” Steve guessed.

“Not exactly,” Sam said.

“What does that mean?” 

“Here we are,” said Sam instead of answering the question. 

The house before them was surprisingly small; Sam had been expecting something huge and glittery, over-the-top even for Tony. But this was almost quaint, and it was homey — perfect for Steve. 

Sam walked up to the front gate and punched Tony’s code into the electronic keypad. The gates swung open, and closed again once they were through. A breeze rolled in behind them while they walked, touching the back of his neck like a warm, dry paintbrush. 

Inside, it was shady and cool, but thankfully not overly air conditioned. Steve hated being cold, even when it was a hundred degrees outside. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of stocking the refrigerator and cupboards,” Jarvis announced when they entered the kitchen, “but Mr. Stark has given me maps to the nearest stores and restaurants if you lack something.”

Sam, assuming Steve would be hungry, opened the fridge. His eyes went wide, and he quickly shut the door again before Steve could see. He still thought they were staying for one night, but no way would he believe that if he saw how much food Jarvis had purchased. It was enough to feed two people, including one super soldier, for two weeks.

“Anything good in there? I’m starving,” Steve said, following him into the kitchen.

Sam shut the fridge door before he could see anything. “Yeah, why don’t you go get changed, I’ll fix us some snacks?” 

Steve gave him a suspicious look — there’d been a lot of those since they got off the jet — but he nodded and turned away. “Thank you,” he said over his shoulder, like he just remembered to say it.

“Welcome,” Sam mumbled automatically, and he opened the fridge again. 

By the time Steve came back, Sam had veggies with dip, crackers with cheese, potato chips, and all the stuff they’d need to make sandwiches spread out on the table. 

“That’s more like it,” said Steve when he saw. “Typical Tony, going overboard when he knows we’re only gonna be here... one night.”

The pause felt significant, but Sam played it casual.“Enh, he’s generous.”

Steve tilted his head, conceding the point, and grabbed a baby carrot. He had changed, Sam noticed, into jeans and a t-shirt — not exactly beach wear, but closer than the light combat gear he’d had on before. 

“So, this contact,” Steve said, opening one of the bags of chips. “I assume he has intel about something local? A new cell, maybe, or some covert operations nearby?”

Sam cracked open a Coke and took a sip to buy time. “I’m not sure,” he lied after a moment. “Said he didn’t want to talk over the phone.”

“Hm,” said Steve. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Is that because he doesn’t exist?”

Sam looked up, startled. Steve was openly smirking now. “What... what do you mean?” Sam asked cautiously. 

“I mean,” said Steve, dropping the pretense of eating, “you didn’t bring me here for work, did you?”

Sam gave up, and shook his head. “How’d you figure it out?” he asked.

“Well, for one thing, you’re a terrible liar,” Steve said. “Almost as bad as me.”

Sam scoffed, offended. No one was as bad a liar as Steve Rogers.

“But what really sealed it is what I found in the bedroom,” he concluded, rounding the table to lay his hands possessively on Sam’s hips. “You want to see?”

Sam’s mouth was dry, but reaching for his Coke now would mean moving away from Steve, and that seemed like a really bad idea. Steve’s hands were warm and heavy against his skin, and Sam knew from experience how much strength was in those hands, how easily Steve could yank him forward if he wanted to. 

“I was gonna tell you tomorrow morning,” he said, which wasn’t an answer to Steve’s question at all, but it seemed important. 

Steve hummed thoughtfully and pulled, just a little. Sam went with the motion, closing about half of the gap between them. He was suddenly more aware of Steve’s body heat than he’d ever been in the depths of a New York winter. Sam could feel it radiating off him, like Steve was made of sunlight. 

“How long are we actually staying?” Steve asked in what could only be described as a bedroom voice. 

“Two weeks,” Sam managed. Steve’s eyebrows shot up. 

“So you tricked me into taking a tropical vacation,” he concluded. He slid his hands up Sam’s sides and around to his shoulder blades. The touch was fiery hot — either that or Sam was just sweating already. 

“Kinda,” Sam admitted, with an apologetic wince.

Steve chuckled. “All right,” he said. “I’ll admit, you got me. And now that we’re here, we can’t go back. It’d be a waste.”

“Of jet fuel,” Sam agreed. “And food.”

“And other things,” added Steve. He let his hands slide down Sam’s back again, but this time they landed on Sam’s ass and squeezed before letting go. “So what else is on this itinerary of yours?”

Sam was more than a little tempted to say fuck the itinerary and just drag Steve to the bedroom, but he stayed strong. “Well, I thought we might start with a pina colada on the beach.”

Steve grinned, and he let Sam lead the way.

**Author's Note:**

> New contact info if you want to get in touch:
> 
> Tumblr: [mrsd-writes](http://mrsd-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Twitter: [@mrsd_writes](https://www.twitter.com/mrsd_writes)
> 
> Dreamwidth: [mrs_d](https://mrs-d.dreamwidth.org/)


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